Reality is$$$ you know$$$ the tip of an iceberg of irrationality that we've managed to drag ourselves up onto for a few panting moments before we slip back into the sea of the unreal.

The imagination is the goal of history. I see culture as an effort to literally realize our collective dreams.

How could anyone presume to know the world through the eyes of an insect?

Observing human variety can give pleasure$$$ but so too can human sameness.

I like to think that it isn't weakness or evasion$$$ but a final act of kindness$$$ a stand against oblivion and despair.

Nothing was to be lost by beginning at the beginning.

Chaos is what we've lost touch with. This is why it is given a bad name. It is feared by the dominant archetype of our world$$$ which is Ego$$$ which clenches because its existence is defined in terms of control.

The whole world felt like a loaded gun on a hair trigger.

If you can play your stuff in a pub$$$ then you're a good band.

Like restless birds$$$ the breath of coming rain creeps$$$ lilac-laden$$$ up the village street.